It Ain't Your Funeral
by T.L. Battle
Summary: An outlaw's an outlaw, no matter how far you run.
1. Chapter 1

_One_

If it's one thing his father taught him, it was to not cry at a funeral.

Jack slyly wiped the sweat from his brow and a surfacing pair of tears from his eyes in one sweep of his hand. Taking a break from the back-breaking shoveling, he stared up at the blinding blue sky. The sun was high; it must be around noon.

The grave was big enough, he supposed, after working for nearly an hour. Hopping up from the hole, he sat quietly on the ground for a few minutes.

Twin graves were already in place at the top of this hill. A matching pair of hardy people; his mother and father; Mrs. and Mr. Marston; Abigail and John; Ma and Pa.

Jack gathered himself from the ground, looking over the two gravestones and now at the freshly dug one slightly in front of theirs.

Rufus had been a good dog. But he had been old and after that encounter with the wolf pack, Jack knew it wouldn't be long before the ol' boy would pass.

He took a moment to appreciate the faithful friend before scooping up the small body and gently lowering it into the hole. He said a quick prayer his mother would say in times of grief.

Picking up the shovel, he began to fill the grave.

_ No more tears, Jack_, he reminded himself, _There ain't no body to cry about anymore._

_. . ._

It was strange to be alone.

His father died over three years ago; his mother a year later. It had been months since Jack traveled to Mexico, almost a year since he killed a man in vengeance. Jack reads by the fireplace in Beecher's Hope, the house quiet and empty. Sometimes he gazed out of the window, into the dark night and sighs.

The house creaks as if in response.

. . .

The ranch life was strange, too.

He was a strong man now, no longer a meager little boy who can't hold a rifle, and he worked the land with as much passion his father had. The corn was harvested, the cattle milked, the horses broken in. It was a nice ranch, although sometimes it was hard finding enough time to sleep.

Mr. and Mrs. O'Bailey from down at the MacFarlane ranch were good to him, and often lent him help if he needed it. He knew Mrs. O'Bailey was always fond of his father, John. They had been friends in a past life, maybe.

It was Mrs. O'Bailey now who came trotting into Beecher's Hope, a satchel on the side of her horse.

"Hello, Mrs. O'Bailey," Jack called from the stable, hitching his own horse up from a routine patrol around the premises. "What can I do for you t'day, ma'am?"

He approached her as she hopped down from the steed and she leveled him with a glare. Jack could never tell if she was joking or serious.

"It's Bonnie, Jack. For the last time. You and your father, I swear," she said. (She smiled after. She was joking).

Mrs. O'Bailey unlatched the satchel from the steed and almost stumbled over with the weight of it. Jack made to catch her, but she waved him off. "I brought you some extra meat," she explained. "With some bread and butter, just in case."

Jack scratched the back of his neck. He didn't like when Mrs. O'Bailey gave him supplies without warning. "That's mighty nice of you, ma'am," he started. "But I don't think – "

"That's _right_ you don't think," she interrupted, pushing the package into his arms. "Winter's coming up in only a few weeks and Beecher's Hope is set to have some serious cold winds."

"You're very kind," Jack managed again, peeking over the tall bag. "Come on inside, I can make you some tea for your trouble."

She waved him off once more. "It ain't no trouble, Jack, just rancher to rancher help." Mrs. O'Bailey grinned, but really he could see the sympathy in her eyes. It was almost pity, but he knew better. She was too proud of him to pity him properly.

"Besides, I have to get back home to Hennigan's Stead, important business and all," Mrs. O'Bailey said, hoisting herself back up on her horse.

"Important business?" Jack asked, balancing the satchel in his better hand. "Can I ask what kind? Maybe I can help you in return after all your generous rancher attitude."

She laughed, a genuine light chuckle that echoed in the desert air. "It ain't that important, my niece is supposed to be coming to town; remember my brother up in the East? That's his little girl. Only seems like she ain't so little no more."

"Oh," Jack replied. "Well if you need help reigning her in, I'm here."

Mrs. O'Bailey laughed again. "She ain't a horse, Jack. But now that I'm thinking about it, we did bring in a new horse that needs some breaking in. If you're interested, come on by."

Jack moved the satchel to one arm and tipped his hat with his free hand. "Will do, ma'am. And thank you again for the provisions."

He watched her retreating figure trot out of the gate and take off down the road.

Glancing down at the package he had just received, Jack started towards the house.

Better salt the meat before it spoils.

. . .

The nights weren't bad.

Jack climbed the ladder nailed to the barn, all the way to the top, and settled himself with a blanket his mother had made when he was a child. He tucked it around himself, keeping warm against the chilly air.

The stars were out tonight and the moon was as large as a grizzly's eye.

Jack didn't like being alone, but if he had to choose a part of his life that wasn't completely isolated, it was staring up at the stars on a night like this.

It was almost like he could get lost in the sky. He wasn't Jack Marston when he stared up at the twinkling white lights; he was an outlaw, a businessman, a politician, a doctor, a rancher. He was anything he wanted to be and it was freeing.

After a while, his eyes grew heavy and eventually closed.

He dreamt of nothing.

* * *

**A/N:** Well here it is, my first dive into Red Dead Redemption; review and comments are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

_Two_

It was four days after Mrs. O'Bailey's visit when Jack made his way to the MacFarlane Ranch.

He casually trotted through Thieves' Landing, his roan horse's hide shining in the mid-afternoon sun. He tipped his hat here and there, acknowledging the random men who tipped theirs first.

Sometimes, Jack was mistaken for his father and sometimes it wasn't so bad.

The sun was setting as he came to the gate of MacFarlane Ranch, casting long shadows along the fences. Jack inhaled deeply. The smell of hay and cattle greeted him in return. A smile ghosted the corners of his lips, but he quickly tucked it away when Mr. O'Bailey approached him from the estate house.

"Hey there, Jack," Mr. O'Bailey said cheerfully. He guided Jack's steed to a hitching post and tied the horse to it. Jack stepped off the animal and wiped his palms on his old jacket before shaking the older man's hand. "Dropping by?"

"Thought I'd help with that horse you need breaking," he explained. "Mrs. O'Bailey told me about him the last time she was up in Beecher's Hope few days ago."

Mr. O'Bailey nodded knowingly. "Sounds good, sounds good."

The pair began their stroll to the corral, Mr. O'Bailey talking animatedly about the new twin horses they had lassoed. The first twin had been broken within the day; but the other was proving to be a stubborn stallion. Each farm hand had tried their turn with the horse, but all had been bucked off within minutes.

"It's the oddest thing, really," Mr. O'Bailey said as they approached the corral. "We never had a horse like this before."

Jack peered into the fenced ring, where a massive steed neighed and stomped. His hide was a deep shiny black with an even darker mane. He caught the horse's eye and had a moment of panic.

Maybe he couldn't break this horse. But he'd try.

Jack picked a lasso from the fence nearby and fixed it to his belt. Straightening the hat on his head, he shrugged off his jacket and readied himself to jump in.

But as he started to climb in, a figure from the other side of the corral hopped in first.

"Anna! Stop!" Mr. O'Bailey yelled from Jack's side. The older man sprinted to grab a lasso from the stable as Jack looked on.

_Anna._

The stallion eyed the young woman, stomping a hoof and shaking its head warningly. Anna stood her ground, the lasso already in both her hands. With a frighteningly fast motion, she swung the loop around the stallion's neck and tugged hard. The horse whinnied loudly before whirling its head around to escape the rope.

Anna lost only a small piece of her footing and regained it within moments.

Swiftly mounting the steed, she grasped the midnight colored mane and held on tight.

The stallion instantly began to buck, squealing angrily and calling out. It stomped again and then began to gallop wildly around the corral, stopping unexpectedly and bucking again.

"Anna!" Mrs. O'Bailey screamed, running from the estate house. "Anna, no! Get off that horse!"

Mr. O'Bailey had already tried to enter the ring, only to be scared back by the wild stallion's cries.

Mrs. O'Bailey ran to the edge, gripping the wooden fence so hard her knuckles turned white in evening twilight.

"I almost have him!" Anna shouted in return. Jack noticed that she had a sly smile on her face.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours – maybe days – the stallion tired. Still bucking, albeit at a slower pace, he soon stopped and resigned to his rider.

Anna, breathing heavily, trotted the steed around the ring, beaming. Mrs. O'Bailey gaped on in fury.

Jack wasn't surprised. He was impressed.

. . .

"I have half a mind to send you back to your father in New York!"

Mrs. O'Bailey had been yelling at Anna for well over two hours. After she had broken the stallion, Jack had watched Anna dismount as if she had been riding horses all her life instead of living in luxury up in the east. He had wanted to ask her about it, maybe even tell her that her skill was mighty impressive, but then Mrs. O'Bailey grabbed the young girl by the elbow and started dragging her back to the house in between bouts of shouting.

The angry rancher could be heard through two separate rooms as she berated her young charge in the back room of the estate house and the two men sat in the tea room near the front of the house.

"I'm real sorry about not getting here sooner. Maybe I could've broken that horse before Anna jumped in," Jack said to Mr. O'Bailey.

"It's alright, it's alright," the man said, finishing his tea in a single gulp. "She's been... a bit hard to handle, especially with Bonnie. Not great at talking with that woman."

He shrugged, his broad shoulders sagging.

Jack took a sip of his tea and set it down on the table in front of him. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, I thought she was a city girl?" he asked tentatively. "How'd she know to handle that horse?"

Mr. O'Bailey's mouth tightened as he stared down at the teapot still on the low table. For a minute, he looked as if he was trying to explain it in his head, but couldn't find the words. He opened, then closed his mouth, as Mrs. O'Bailey came into the room.

Her cheeks were still pink and she dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Jack," she said apologetically. "I promised you dinner, didn't I?"

"No, no, that's alright," Jack started, beginning to stand. Mrs. O'Bailey stopped him, pushing him gently down on the couch again.

"How about breakfast? It's almost midnight and we have an extra bedroom upstairs. I'm not letting you leave in the middle of the night," she said with a small grin. "Too many outlaws running around, you know it."

Jack gazed up at her and was instantly reminded of his late mother. The sternness of her voice coupled with the gentle, sympathetic tone was too similar.

"Well you make a good argument, Mrs. O'Bailey," he replied quietly. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"It ain't none," she said with a swat of her hand. "Here, Patrick will set you upstairs."

Jack and Mr. O'Bailey rose from their seats and he clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder.

He felt at home, but Jack knew it wasn't his.

. . .

The old MacFarlane estate house was comprised of two grand floors, built a long time ago by Mrs. O'Bailey's father, Mr. MacFarlane. Jack had only met the old man once before his bad heart took him, but he liked the genuine kindness the man exuded.

It was the same kindness Mrs. O'Bailey extended to Jack so often, and so much so he wondered how he could pay her back as he folded the shirt he had been wearing. He set the button-down on a spare chair in the corner of the room and went to slip on the sleeping shirt Mr. O'Bailey had lent him.

Anna had been sent to her room immediately after the scathing shouting Mrs. O'Bailey had given her. She had swiftly closed the door when Mr. O'Bailey and Jack made their way up the stairs earlier in the night; Jack had only a glimpse of dark braided hair before the wooden door slammed shut.

Jack sighed now, his eyes sweeping over the various tools and weapons he had laid out on the drawing desk surface in the corner of the room. A hunting knife, a pistol, a satchel full of freshly picked herbs he had plucked from the side of the horse trail in the afternoon.

The pistol had belonged to his father, the late great John Marston. The knife had belonged to his mother, the lesser known Abigail.

Jack stared at the weapons for a long while before crawling into the bed and blowing out the nearby lantern.

. . .

Jack rose with the sun.

He woke up early out of habit and for a minute, he could not remember where he was. A feeling of fleeting panic passed as he sat up in the borrowed bed. The MacFarlane Ranch. The stallion. Anna. It all came back to him in a wave of realization.

The early morning sunlight seeped through his room's window, a pale light that played on his dirt-streaked skin

As he dressed, he wondered about Mrs. O'Bailey's niece. She wasn't anything like he had expected her to be. He had imagined her as a fancy city girl, with fashionable dresses and hair intricately placed on her head and smelling of lilac. He imagined her as a girl who had been sent to the frontier to know the value of hard work, not a girl who already seemed to know it.

So why was she even there?

A knock came at the door as Jack slipped his hunting knife into his boot. "Jack? Breakfast is ready in the dining room," Mr. O'Bailey said, poking his mustached face into the room.

"Sounds great, Mr. O'Bailey, I'll be down in minute or two," Jack responded, standing. Mr. O'Bailey nodded and shut the door once more as the younger man began to dress.

He holstered the gun on his hip.

Can never be too careful, that's for certain.

Jack made sure to fix the bed before heading downstairs, mostly out of a need to not add to Mrs. O'Bailey's list of chores for the day. He headed downstairs and caught his reflection in a hallway mirror. Disregarding the need to shave, he stepped into the dining room and hesitated.

Anna sat at the table, plate half-finished and scarfing down the rest of her meager meal. Her dark hair was braided down the back of her head, a stern expression on her face. She glanced at him in the doorway and paused her meal. "Well sit down then," she said after a long moment, gesturing to a seat at the table.

"Anna," Mrs. O'Bailey said in her warning tone. "Don't start."

"I'm just offering him a seat, Aunt Bonnie," Anna said in return, innocently enough. She finished her plate and stood, grabbing her hat from the back of the chair. "I'll be outside if y'all need me." She eyed Jack as she passed him by, her cold green eyes slicing through him.

He shivered.

"Patrick can you watch her?" Mrs. O'Bailey quickly asked of her husband once Anna had disappeared from the room. He sighed, but nodded and followed the young girl out.

"I best be heading back to the ranch," Jack said, still standing in the doorway. Mrs. O'Bailey nodded, too tired to protest otherwise.

"Come down if you need company or a warm fire and a meal," she responded, pulling him into a hug. Jack returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around the smaller woman.

He tipped his hat and exited the house.

He needed to get home.


End file.
